


a peculiar offer

by youheldyourbreath



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: F/M, Roommates, Spideychelle Week 2020, and then mj sees a little girl on the train, peter and mj have been roommates for a hot minute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:54:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24914185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youheldyourbreath/pseuds/youheldyourbreath
Summary: The little girl is sitting primly on the edge of her bus seat, her feet dangling wildly as her mother tries to tame her hair, and Michelle can’t help but think she looks sweet. She likes kids. But, to be frank, Michelle has never imagined herself with them. When she looked into the future she saw other goals. There was always too much world to help save to worry about babies.And yet the little girl with the cockeyed bow tie hanging out of her left piggy tail makes Michelle's heart leap.It probably isn’t tactful. In fact, Michelle is certain wrecking balls have caused less alarm. Still, she can’t help blurt it out when she and Peter are sprawled out on their couch watching old reruns of Battlestar Galactica. He is saying something or other about Lee when Michelle cuts him off dry, saying, “I’m going to have a baby.”
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Comments: 35
Kudos: 264
Collections: Spideychelle Week 2020





	a peculiar offer

The little girl is sitting primly on the edge of her bus seat, her feet dangling wildly as her mother tries to tame her hair, and Michelle can’t help but think she looks _sweet_. She likes kids. But, to be frank, Michelle has never imagined herself with them. When she looked into the future she saw other goals. There was always too much world to help save to worry about babies.

And yet the little girl with the cockeyed bow tie hanging out of her left piggy tail makes Michelle's heart leap.

It probably isn’t tactful. In fact, Michelle is certain wrecking balls have caused less alarm. Still, she can’t help blurt it out when she and Peter are sprawled out on their couch watching old reruns of Battlestar Galactica. He is saying something or other about Lee when Michelle cuts him off dry, saying, “I’m going to have a baby.”

Peter sputters. His Mountain Dew, the antithesis of what superheroes should drink, dribbles down his chin. She allows him a moment to collect himself as he coughs wildly. It gives her a moment to reckon with the words, too. Sure, she had been thinking about babies since the little girl on the train but it hadn't been anything concrete until the words slipped unbidden off her tongue. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, wiping mindlessly at his now-red chin. “Excuse me?”

“Is that cool with you?” she poses, the picture of calm. After all, one of them has to be in this friendship. 

“Uh yeah,” he replies, still visibly stupefied. “I just didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”

“I’m not,” she shrugs, hauling herself off of their shitty, secondhand couch. The offensive blue article was the first they bought when they moved in together three years ago. Coming out of graduate school meant loans were steep and furniture needed to only be functional. She supposes they could afford something nicer now, what with Peter at Stark Industries in an official capacity and her income from The New York Times, but the blue couch was strangely _theirs_. 

Peters’s eyes flutter as he tries to digest all of the information. Michelle curses the five hundred other ways she could’ve dropped the news. “Right,” he chews on the world like he has never said it before. “Uh. Any reason why?”

“I want a baby,” she softens, as her hand flattens against her stomach. “I’m nearly thirty and I don’t really need a man to have one. So. Yeah.”

Peter reaches for another lonely dumpling. He shoves it in his mouth and stalls for time. The creeping sense of dread finally starts to mount in her stomach, like a disease. She hastily adds, “I just—I wanted to let you know so if you wanted to move out cause, you know, _baby_ , I wanted to give you a heads up.”

His features settle into something unknowable. He has a set of looks that for all of the years they have been friends Michelle has never been able to penetrate. This is one of those looks. It is startlingly intense and she tries not to shrink under his open irises. “Anyway,” she pipes up, again. “It’s fine. Like. I haven’t even gone to the sperm bank so.”

“Can you even afford that?” he asks softly. 

She nearly weeps at how relieved she is to hear his voice. The silence was gnawing at her. Peter Parker is her best friend. She wants him to approve. She wants him to tell her she is doing the right thing. She is terrified and she needs his support. 

“Uh. Kind of? I dunno. I’ll figure it out.” 

Something unusual happens. She watches Peter steel himself. His eyes are clear and focused, and it reminds her of the look he occasionally has before an Avengers mission. It is his selfless look. It is his throw-himself-face-first-into-danger look and it scares the shit out of her. “Peter—“

“I can help.”

“What? Jesus. No, Peter. I’m not taking your money.”

“No,” he says. “I can _help_.” 

It takes a moment for his full meaning to dawn on her. How could he— _oh_. Her eyes comically widen and she feels her world drop out from beneath her feet. 

His cheeks mercifully redden and Michelle feels less alone in her shock. “I just,” his voice cracks. He clears it and tries again. “I just don’t know why you’d pay for it when I’ve got it for free. If—if, uh, that’s something you’d ever consider.” There is a beat of silence. It stretches on as Michelle grabbles with thought and reason. Peter flails, “I’m sorry. Was that weird? I just—you caught me off guard, MJ. Like a baby? Cool. But. I dunno. And of course I’d wanna still live with you. I like babies. Babies are cool and you can’t beat our rent. And...and I just figured I’d help. I know you’re saving up. To blow it all on a sperm bank—but it’s your body. Totally. So. Ignore me. Just. I’ll shut up.”

Bizarre laughter bubbles out of her chest and once it begins she cannot stop the onslaught of giggles. It is an out-of-body experience. MJ is versed in the safe smirk and the husky laugh, but giggles were not in her repertoire. Giggles belonged to unburdened people. Michelle had never considered herself one of those people. 

And yet, she giggles. It peels out of her. 

Peter looks stunned. He looks end-of-the-world-Thanos-style stunned. He is bracing himself for some kind of impact and MJ can't help but think, _god_ , he is the sweetest man alive. 

She closes the distance between them on the couch and throws her arms around him. Her nose presses in the juncture of his neck and she can smell the distinctly Peter smell-- lab chemicals, sweat and smoke. It shouldn't be comforting. It always manages to be. 

"You big, goofy idiot," she whispers. 

His uncertain arms close around her, trapping her into the circlet of his arms. He husks a laugh against her curls. "That's me." 

She pulls away just enough that she can look at his worried face. It still pinches between his eyes, even as he tries to school his features into a false calm, and it only endears him to her more. Her stupid, _stupid_ best friend. 

"We can't have a baby together, Peter." 

"Why not?"

"Because," she smoothes her thumb between his eyebrows to soothe the crease there. "Because I would never ask you to do that." 

His eyes flutter shut under her touch. "You're not asking. I'm offering."

"You don't mean it," she says. 

"Sure, I do." His eyes open. "You don't have to say yes or anything, but, like, it makes sense, MJ. You're going to pay thousands of dollars to get a sperm donor when I could just...get you pregnant?" He flushes deeply at the last remark. It stuns her. 

"You're...you're really serious about this, aren't you?" 

He nods.

The thumb resting between his eyes falls down to his cheek, an absent tenderness that she has always had for Peter. True and selfless friendship. His traitorous cheek turns into her hand. It makes her heart thud. 

"Why?"

"I'd do anything for you," he says so simply. 

It is enough to make her cry. 

She drops her hand. His steady arms that hold her to his chest drop and MJ does the only thing she can think of in that moment. She flees. 

When her bedroom door slams shut, she slides down the wooden frame and pulls her knees into her chest. 

She wants a baby. Like the one on the train. All her own. But now, when she pictures the little girl on the train, she has Peter's eyes. 

* * *

He is gone when she pads into their shared living room the next morning. The apartment looks like a tornado has spun through it. There are things thrown everywhere, like Peter had run somewhere in a rush. As she makes a fresh pot of tea, she spots the hastily scribbled note on the granite countertop. 

**Got called Upstate. I hope I didn't make it weird last night. Offer is still on the table if that's what you want. --Peter**

Michelle hardly hears the kettle whistle. 

* * *

He is gone for twelve straight days. In that time, she waffles back and forth between his offer. It is crazy, _absolutely insane_ , to have a kid with her best friend. First of all, how and why and how could they even survive such a weird and monumental thing? On the other hand, it is Peter. The same Peter who makes her breakfast just how she likes it and mends her yoga pants with the same needle he uses to stitch-up holes in his Spider-Man suit. It is the same Peter who wolf-whistled when she gave her Valedictorian speech in high school. The Peter who has always, always been there for her and trusts her with his life. 

Which is what makes his offer all the more terrifying. How could she lose him? She wouldn't survive it. She is woman enough to admit that she relies on him. They are like two tenant poles, holding up the foundation of a life they have built together as friends. Some friendships run that deep. And what a gift for their baby. 

The baby, MJ reminds herself. Not their baby. Not yet. Not officially. Maybe not ever. 

She wishes she had never looked at that little girl on the train. She wishes she didn't know now that she wants a baby to love and hold and protect and help navigate the world. She wishes she could stop picturing the baby with Peter's stupid, earnest smile. 

He is gone for twelve straight days and, in that time, she has no idea what she is going to do. 

Probably something stupid. 

* * *

When he walks in the door, haggard and exhausted, after his latest mission, MJ throws herself into his arms. His embrace is automatic. He exhales shakily and one of his dense hands clasp the back of her head. She feels held, really held, and of course she does. It's _Peter_. 

"You're okay," she whispers. He nods. "I was so worried. The news--" 

"Morgan showed up."

"Peter--" 

He pulls her closer. "She's eighteen. She shouldn't be called in. Not yet. I was furious when I saw her there."

MJ runs a patient hand through the soft curls at the nape of his neck. "You were fourteen when you started patrolling."

He huffs, "That's different." It warms her chest. And in that moment, she _knows_. It all comes together in a devastating eclipse of knowing. 

"Peter," she questions quietly.

"Hmm?" he hums. 

"Peter," she says, again, trying to unwind herself from his arms enough to look into his eyes. He releases her enough so she can look into his eyes. It is dead on. His height means she never has to go looking for his eyes. They are always right there for her, waiting. "Okay." 

His silly eyebrows knit. She nearly rolls her eyes, but does patiently brush her thumb between them to smooth out the crunched lines. "Okay, what?" he asks. 

"Okay," she repeats. "Yes. Okay." 

It shouldn't surprise her, the kiss, but it does. _Oh_ , it does. It is consuming and searching and relieved. It occurs to her that she has never been kissed like this before. 

His hand, the one at the back of her head, twists to bunch in her curls. It stings like stepping into a hot bath. Sudden and then bone-melting relief. Her knees wobble and she is thankful that Peter is so solid. So steady. 

Her hands twist in his ruined sweatshirt. He is still tacky from battle and it makes her stomach jolt like a livewire. She slumps against him and MJ curses her weak knees. Stupid Peter and his stupid kisses and his _incredible_ arms. 

His equally stupid mouth curls just so in the shadow of a smirk and she lightly thumbs her fist on his shoulder. He has the audacity to rumble a laugh into their kiss. "Idiot," she reminds him. 

"Yeah," he says, as he licks a hot kiss into her mouth. His tongue is a plundering thing. She sighs. "So, you keep telling me," he quips. 

Peter easily lifts her off the ground and MJ knows she is forgetting something. There is something she should say or address, but all she can really think about is _undressing_ him. Whatever else there is to say can be said later. 

He perches her on the edge of their island. Just beyond her butt, the dirty kettle from the morning still sits. This is their home. Peter Parker is kissing her in their kitchen where she makes tea and he cooks breakfast. Peter Parker is rushing his ruinous hand down her spine, just above her tailbone, and crunching her shirt upward to rest his flat palm on her heated skin. It is too illicit for their breakfast routine. 

He is achingly careful, as he kisses her. His tongue maps out her sighs and measures them for all they are worth. She gets the impression he wants to learn everything, greedy little thing. When she pulls away to gasp for breath he beams at her. It is so boyish that her heart lurches. 

MJ exhales slowly. He doesn't dive into her neck, like she expects him to do, he waits for her to breathe. It makes her nervous and liquid all at once. "Oh," she croaks. 

"Oh?" he asks. 

She nods. "I just remembered what I was supposed to ask you." 

"Oh?" he says, again, only this time he is smiling. 

It is contagious. She covers his mouth with her hands as she tries to bite down on her own matching grin. "Don't be cute." He wiggles his eyebrows in response. MJ lowers her hands. "Are you sure?" Peter nods. She immediately shakes her head. "No. I mean, are you sure? This is a big ask. Huge, even." 

"How would you know? You haven't seen it yet."

"Peter," she warns. 

"MJ, I'm sure." 

"How can you be sure?" 

His eyes become unknowable again, like they had the day he first suggested this arrangement. It makes something swirl in her stomach. It is intense but neither good nor bad. Pure feeling. "I'm sure," he whispers. "I've never been more sure about anything. I want to make you a mother, Em. More than anything." 

"But how can you--"

"Because I am. Because you deserve to have everything you want. And because I love you." 

She softens. "I love you, too." She has always loved him. He is her best friend. Still, his eyes flash and she gets the impression she has missed something. Something significant. 

He swallows thickly and says, "Then let me give you a baby, MJ. Please." 

Her only answer is a kiss. 

She needs touch. She needs his touch. 

He carries her to his bedroom. She is quietly thankful. She is not sure how she would face her bedroom again after all of this, knowing what they did, how he touched her, and survive it. 

Peter looks a bit mystified when he deposits her on his bed. She blinks up at him and arches up on her elbows, waiting. "Peter," she tries to say, but he lunges forward, pressing her hips into the bed and kissing her roughly. Her shoulders roll back and form into the warmth of his sheets. His hand drifts down to the spot between her legs and she keens. 

She should be embarrassed by how wet she is between her legs already. Over her cotton sweats, he presses against her heated center. His flat hand rubs torturous circles with featherlight pressure. It isn't enough. She wants more. 

MJ claws at his back, shirking up his shirt to get it off. He laughs at her impatience and she bites his lip in retaliation. If she expects him to be subdued, she is sorely mistaken. 

Peter growls. It rumbles like a roar in his chest and, without finesse, he shoves his hand down the front of her sweats and into her damp panties. She cries out. He swallows it in his kisses. He slides a finger into her with next-to-no resistance. It makes her cheeks heat in embarrassment, but he smirks in approval. "Fuck. You're so wet." His eyes are smoldering, molten with heat. His wrist picks up the pace and she chokes on a sob. One finger becomes two and the slickness hastens his learned pace. 

"Peter," she stammers. MJ slams her eyes shut and the darkness behind her lids dots into white spots. "Oh my god." 

"You take me so well. Fucking yourself on my fingers." He has given up the pretense of kissing her now. He is too busy watching his handiwork as she writhes on his bed. His free hand hikes up her shirt beneath her chin and folds down her bra to expose her breasts to the cold air. It is a savage gesture for someone so wholly good. 

He dives into her chest and swipes his tongue over her hardened nipple. His teeth skate over the nipple and it is on the right side of too much. She imagines what his tongue would feel like between her legs. It makes her shiver. "Peter," she says senselessly. 

His teeth sink into the swell of her left breast. It makes her vision blurry. "You have no idea what you look like, pretty and wanting on my bed." The fingers inside her crook and hit something new. She folds and scrambles for purchase, holding onto his hair for stability. "Taking my fingers like you were made for it." He doesn't let up on his ministrations. Peter is relentless. His words and fingers are at odds with the light, worshipful kisses he now dots all over her tits. 

He lavishes her with attention. His words string a web of arousal in her stomach, aching to snap, when he says, "You're such a good girl, taking my fingers. Tell me you like it." 

"I like it." 

"Tell me you want me." 

"I want you," she complies. 

"Do you wanna come?" he asks, as his fingers drag the inside of her cunt. 

She sobs, "Please."

"Okay," he lowers his mouth to her breast. "You can come." He sucks her nipple into his mouth and his fingers buck wildly in-and-out of her. 

MJ feels her back leap off the bed, arching prettily into his mouth and fingers, as she comes softly. The cry is white noise and her body breaks with pleasure. And Peter does not stop worshipping her body; it quivers in aftershocks, desperate to cling to the pleasure he brought her to with expert fingers and a wicked tongue. 

He takes his time, kissing each of her breasts, as his fingers now slowly probe in and out of her. Her body lurches in a particularly intense aftershock. It makes her shiver. Peter patiently kisses her exposed tummy. She dazedly realizes he is going to put a baby in there. 

Her inner walls squeeze around his fingers, aching for his cock. 

"MJ?" he asks, softly, and he sounds like _her_ Peter again. Not the one who stuffed her cunt full of his fingers and made her ask to come. The fact that they are one-in-the-same makes her a little dizzy. Another gush of heat pools at her center. "MJ," he asks, searching for her eyes. 

She focuses enough to nod in assent. 

He is gentle with her liquid body as he pries all of her clothes off of her wrung out body. First her shirt goes and then her bra and her panties and sweatpants go last. She doesn't notice when he removes his clothes. MJ only notices when she reaches for his now-exposed, aching member. It is perfect. 

She smarts, "Big ask. Not huge." 

He flushes. "What?" It is too sweet for a boy that fucked her full of his fingers. 

"It is a big ask. Not huge." 

Peter chuckles lightly and leans down to kiss her. She meets him halfway and their mouths slide together lazily. Imperfectly matched. 

It is with her hand around his cock that she starts to guide him toward her entrance. He fists his hand into the sheets next to her head. When he hits her wet folds, they both sigh. "Fuck," he whispers. 

"Mm," she agrees. "That's the idea." 

"You're sure?" he asks, again. 

She can't find the energy to be annoyed with him. Not when he is so dear. "Our baby, Peter. Mine and yours." 

Her words do something to him. They shoot up his spine and he looks utterly ruined. 

MJ lets him pry her legs apart a little wider and together they work his length inside of her. It burns against her walls, stretching her open, in a luxurious way. It has been a long time, she realizes with a start. Her head falls back against the bed as he works himself inside. She sucks him in, inch by inch, until he is completely bottomed out. 

Together, they sigh. 

It feels too good to endure. 

He pulls himself out of her slightly and pushes back in. It is unlike his previous vigor. Now, there is only gentle awareness of their pounding hearts. He goes slow and she belatedly realizes he wants to make it last. There is no thrusting or husked words. They share breath, almost kissing, and MJ feels her spine melt. 

Peter is pressing her down into the mattress and MJ startlingly identifies what she is feeling. Seen. Protected. The way Peter always makes her feel. But now she can identify it, as he works in and out of her at a blissful pace. 

His voice runs ragged, "I can't believe how well you take me." His voice is reverant. "I can't believe you came for me. I can't believe you feel like this. I knew you would. I knew it would feel like this. Can you come for me, again, Em?" She clings to him. "Please," he nearly begs. "I'll do anything. Just come for me." 

And she does. She leans up for a kiss, meeting his wavering lips, and she feels her heart open like a flower in the sunshine. Her orgasm this time is a ripple, echoing out and lingering, instead of crashing. It holds onto her, wringing her out as she drags Peter down with her. He lurches in her arms and cries out indelicately. 

She feels his heat pool inside of her as he fills her to the brim. It is enough to almost make her fall over the edge again. Instead, she finds the wherewithal to pet the back of his head, combing her fingers through his hair as he groans against her open mouth. 

When he goes still, their sticky bodies are pressed together. He is heavy and she welcomes the weight. 

"Em," he sighs absently.

"I'm here," she reassures him.

He noses his face against her cheek. "Do you think it worked?" 

She tiredly laughs, "Dunno. I suppose we'll see." 

"A baby," he says, stunned. "We're going to have a baby."

"Yeah," she mumbles. Michelle wraps her arms around her tacky shoulders. "Yeah, we are." 

* * *

They don't talk about the sex directly afterwards. It is spoken about abstractly and only on occasion when MJ is ovulating. He takes her to bed all over their shared apartment in the noble pursuit of making a baby. She starts to see their apartment as shared sense memory as weeks pass by in a flash. 

When she gets her first period after they start having sex, MJ cries. Peter comes home from work to find her curled on their couch with a heating pad and some ice cream and without having to be asked, he folds her into his arms. She presses her cheek against his chest and cries. Her tears have always been safe with Peter. 

The disappointment only grows when she gets her next period. 

Peter tries to soothe her, like before, but she slams her bedroom door shut and spends the next four days pointedly ignoring him. When her period passes, she never apologizes for freezing him out. Not exactly. She marches out of her room and drops to her knees in their kitchen. It isn't exactly going to help her get pregnant, but the way Peter cries out in ecstasy makes it worth it. 

It isn't a perfect apology, but it is something. 

They go six months without any progress and with each new period, MJ feels her heart darken with despair. 

The only respite she has is when Peter takes her to bed, rough and patient and dirty and worshipful all at once. She learns what he sounds like when he comes unexpectedly and how his tongue feels between her legs. He nearly always makes her beg for her first orgasm, demanding and hard, but she doesn't mind. She likes how his body bends her to his will and fucks her wildly. It is a new side of Peter she is learning to appreciate and like all of the parts of Peter she knows, she loves him. 

* * *

Her body cools after a wretched orgasm. She feels lightheaded from his pleasure. Six months ago she had never imagined being bent over their couch and fucked full of Peter's cock with his fingers shoved in her mouth, but it _works_ for her. It really works for her. 

As her mind returns to her body, Peter cleans her up and carries her limp body to his bedroom. He protectively curls around her and rests his head on her chest. He likes being held, too. It makes her heart thud, thud, _thud_. 

"Em," he says quietly.

"Hmm?" she hums.

"I'm sorry." 

Her pleasure-lidded eyes ping into focus. "What?" 

He hides his face in her bare chest. "I...I think this might be my fault." 

"Peter--"

"No," he says firmly. "No, Em. What if I-- what if I can't have kids because of Spider-Man stuff? What if it's me?" 

He sounds so weary it cracks her right down the middle. She has been so wrapped up in her sadness about pregnancy, she is ashamed that she hadn't considered his feelings. Her beautiful, selfless idiot. "Oh, Peter..." 

He sniffles. "I want to give you a baby, MJ. More than anything. But I'm being selfish. If I can't, I should let you try with someone else." 

"You're not being selfish," she insists.

"Oh yeah?" he husks sardonically against her naked breast. "Trust me. I'm being selfish."

She blinks and shimmies down the bed so they are face-to-face. "Peter. You're so self _less_. You know how much I want to be a mother and you're trying to help me. What kind of friend....?"

"No kind of friend," he cuts her off. "That's the whole damn point, MJ. I'm so selfish. I--I love you." 

"I love you, too," she replies, automatically. 

"No!" he sighs. "No, MJ. _I love you_." 

All of it hits her at once. The years flood her, short-circuiting her system. Every look. Every touch. Every word. It hits her solidly in the chest. It _aches_. The last six months of kisses and sex crystalizes into something else entirely. He was making love to her. He was telling her all along and she hadn't listened. 

Stunned is putting it mildly. 

She tries to speak. She sputters. 

His thumb finds her face and brushes a stray curl out of her eyes. "I've been in love with you for years. And I know it wasn't right, I know I shouldn't have done it, but when you said you wanted a baby. Well. I--I couldn't let it be with anyone besides me." 

"Peter--"

He starts to cry and her heart _pangs_. "I love you so much. And I'm sorry I let this get out of hand. I'm sorry I offered. I'm so sorry I did all of this and, in the end, I can't even give you a baby." 

"Pet--"

"I'll leave. I'll go and move out. And you never have to forgive me. I wouldn't." 

"Peter," she snaps. He quiets. "Peter, you big, stupid idiot. Of course I love you."

"No, but I _love_ you." 

"I _love_ you, too. Idiot." 

"You do?" he wipes uselessly at his wet eyes. 

"Of course," she scoots closer to him, knocking their noses together. "I've always loved you. I just didn't...it took me a minute to catch up. I'm sorry it took so long." 

He weeps in earnest, her gentle man, and rolls on top of her to hold her ever tighter. She giggles. It is the second time in recent memory she can remember giggling. It is the sound of the unburdened. Her heart can endure it now. She expects to giggle far more in the future. 

This is happiness. This is love. 

Peter kisses the shell of her ear. "What if I can't give you a baby?" 

"Then we adopt," she says bluntly. "Or we foster. We have options. But I'm not having a baby without you, Peter Parker. You promised." 

He sobs a laugh. "Okay." 

When he pulls away to look down at her, he is giving her that unknowable look. Only this time, she knows what that look means. 

It means he loves her. And she loves him. 

She leans up and kisses him. It tastes different. Or maybe it is that she _knows_ now. It is so much better like this and quietly, like lovers, they fall together, again. It is like some kind of gentle song. Sweet and soft and endless. Touch gives way to touch and kisses beget more kisses. 

It is better than perfect. It is _theirs_. 

* * *

Ben Parker is theirs, too. 

He is born screaming nine months later.

When MJ scoops him against her bare breast, her boyfriend looks on in awe. Their son has a red, blotchy newborn face and he looks distinctly unimpressed from being woken up from his long nap in the womb. 

Peter snorts and runs the pad of his finger down the screaming baby's face. "He looks like a scrunch." 

MJ tuts, "He's perfect." 

"Totally perfect," Peter agrees. 

She wordlessly tilts her chin up for a kiss. He playfully raises his eyebrow, "I thought you said I wasn't ever allowed to touch you again?"

MJ hooks her hand in his shirt and pulls him down. Their faces hover near each other. "I was in labor. I was allowed to say whatever I wanted." 

"I love you," is all he replies. 

She kisses him. It says everything. 


End file.
